


Rags to Riches

by princess_anna



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 14:32:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_anna/pseuds/princess_anna
Summary: Anna had one job--have sex with Roger Taylor.Yet she still failed to do that.





	Rags to Riches

Pinkish nude-painted lips, dark brown-hair puffed up, bangs curled, heavily lined dark green eyes. Her fair skin was given just a thin layer of foundation—he didn’t like tasting make up, Paul Prenter advised.

She could feel her mediocre-sized boobs pushed up to her throat with the laciest silver bra she had ever worn underneath the short silver silk robe she wore above it. She traced her fingers along one of the suspenders connecting her silver panty to her black sheer stockings as she peered at her reflection in the mirror. She could feel her feet shaking in the silver 4-inch heels she was wearing. 

“Are you ready yet, Anna?”

She broke away from her trance as she looked at Paul through the mirror. He was standing impatiently behind her, giving her a poorly hidden sneer.

“Yes,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible.

She followed him out of the dressing area and into the lounges of that high-society pub. It was a place notorious for wealthy people—important, famous people. And she was hired to sleep with one.

She never wanted to be a prostitute. If life had been easier, she never would have taken this job. But she needed the money _immediately_ , and the label was paying her a whopping 900 pounds for her to do this. That’s more than two weeks worth of pay for her singing and acting gigs. 

Paul had approached her two nights ago at the burlesque club she was performing in. She was still new, performing only for about a week when he came. She was dancing in a schoolgirl outfit, singing a sexy version of Audrey Hepburn’s _Oh How To Be Lovely_. After she came off the stage, the assistant approached her and asked her if she was open to sleeping with someone for money. He had been pretty straightforward, and that was the first time she had been asked that kind of question. He said that he was working for the band and that the label was going to reward them with a _good time_ for their biggest hit called _Killer Queen_ , a song she’d heard on the radio. He continued to tell her that she fitted one of the members’ preferred physical attributes of girls—petite, baby-faced, dark-haired. That member wanted either a Jane Fonda or an Audrey Hepburn, and she did have some similarities with the latter. He then told her that the label was willing to pay her a generous amount of money for her _services_ if ever she agreed.

Her ears rang when she heard the price. Her mouth had uttered, “yes, I’ll do it” before she even thought about it. Nevermind that she’d never even had sex before. She was only 19 years old, and she’d been getting odd jobs by lying about her age. She carried around a fake ID that said she was five years older. She looked particularly young—it was an inherited physical trait. Her mother looked young for her age, too. Well, before she got chronically sick. Anna had been working day and night since she dropped out from high school three years ago to pay for her mother’s hospital bills. Yet it was never enough. So, if she needed to sell her body, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

They entered the lounge, and her knees almost buckled in nervousness when she saw the curtained doors lining the reserved lounge with the band’s name on it. There were two other girls, too. One of them was talking to a bleak looking guy—she assumed he was an assistant like Paul because he looked shy as he made conversation with the curly brunette in front of him. He glanced at her for a moment before returning to talk to the brunette. Then she thought she saw a muscular man enter one of the doors.

Paul had just finished telling her tips as to how to pleasure the client—Roger Taylor, he said. Let him take the lead and all that. She listened intently, trying to organize the actions in her brain and silently praying that everything will go well later. She’d watched some pornographic tapes as preparation for this, and she had been trained in acting when she was a child (when they still had money)—she can do this.

“This way,” Paul muttered as he parted the curtains of one of the doors. He pushed the door open for her.

 She took a deep breath and held her chin up, swaying her hips as she entered. She heard the door click closed behind her.

The room had reddish lighting and had no windows, only a small exhaust at the ceiling. She could still hear the muffled music in the club. Her eyes trailed the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, lined with lavish silk covers and fluffy pillows at the headboard. There was a side table, but really, the room was so small that it only allowed only less than five feet of space on all sides of the bed.

 And there stood the drummer at a corner.

It’s show time.

His back was turned to her, and all she could see was that he had messy, long blonde hair. He was considerably taller than her even if she was wearing heels. Everyone was taller than her—she stood only at 5’2”.

He was fidgeting—with anger, she presumed. He looked like he wanted to hit something. And he was smoking. The room was almost hazy with the smoke.

“Roger?” she called softly.

Immediately, he spun around to look at her. 

He was _handsome_. She knew about the band Queen. She always tuned in to the radio to hear their songs. If she could afford it, she’d definitely buy their albums. She was familiar with the appearance of one member—Freddie Mercury—because his face was always displayed on the pictures. Well, sometimes she had glimpses of the guitarist and the bassist behind him, but the drummer was concealed behind his drums. This was the first time she’d seen Roger. He had a well-defined face, looked pretty young as well, and he had the bluest eyes she had ever seen. And this guy was going to be the first one to touch her. _Ever_. Fair enough.

He had a scowl on his face, but it immediately turned into a smirk upon seeing her.

“Well, hello, love,” he said. He had an incredible high, raspy voice that would have turned her on if only her heart wasn’t beating so fast. He approached her as his eyes shamelessly roamed her body.

She shot him an innocent smile and giggled when he was close enough to put a hand on her waist. He seemed to believe her. She mentally patted herself on the back.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” he asked.

“Anna.”

“Anna,” he said above a whisper. He stepped closer to her and put his other hand on the other side of her waist, “Lovely name for the loveliest bird.”

“Hmm,” she traced her index finger along his collarbone before she played with his numerous gold necklaces. “And what do you like to do with lovely birds, Mr. Taylor?”

She saw his eyes get dark with lust as she peered up at him through her dark lashes. He leaned in closer to her and whispered in her ear, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

A shiver ran through her spine, and he must’ve felt it because he chuckled before he pressed a soft kiss on the sensitive spot right below her earlobe.

He pulled his head away and tilted her chin up so that he could have a better view of her face, “God, you’re so beautiful.”

He sounded so aroused that she started to feel pressure in her core as well. She snaked her arms up his shoulders as he pulled her in for a heated kiss.

She felt his hands roam up from the back of her thighs and going under her robe to her butt. 

“Shit,” he cursed against her lips as his fingers touched her lacy panties. It was so dangerously close to her center that she had goose bumps on her butt. Again, he must have noticed, because he chuckled yet again and caressed her butt cheek.

Then before she could register it, he pulled at the ribbon holding the robe open and pulled it down. He pulled away rapidly, breaking the kiss, only to take a good look at her.

The lust in his eyes made her confident enough to smirk, and tease, “Like what you see, drummer boy?”

 “Fuck yeah.”

He crashed his lips with hers, kissing her rougher this time. His calloused hands roamed all over her body and she couldn’t count the times she shivered under his touch. It was new for her. She couldn’t help it. Then his lips moved down her chin and down her neck, and she was surprised to hear herself involuntarily moan when he sucked a sensitive spot. 

He expertly unclasped her bra and threw it on the ground. He gently pushed her to lie on the bed, pausing yet again to look at her.

She’d never felt more exposed in her life. Yes, she worked in a burlesque club, but it never required her to wear anything that showed her private parts. She at least had a bra and a panty on. 

He took off his shirt in a swift movement before he climbed up on top of her. She could feel his hardness on her thigh. Her fingers found the buckle of his jeans.

“Tsk,” he said, pushing his body on hers but careful not to crush her with his full weight. “Not yet, princess.” 

He latched his lips on her neck once again and trailed them down her chest. Sucking one of her nipples, his fingers caressed her through her panties.

 She moaned. It felt good.

“Already wet for me, baby, huh?” 

Then he climbed up to kiss her again. She took the opportunity to cup his hard on and rub it, earning a husky groan from the drummer.

She flipped them so that she could straddle him. Breaking away from the kiss, she looked down at him to see a smirk on his face, which turned into a look of longing when she sat down on the bulge in his pants, lining her center to it.

She leaned down to kiss him as she fiddled with the buckle of his belt.

He swatted her hands away, saying, “Ah, ah. I want to taste you first.”

He grabbed a fistful of her hair before he pulled her head down on his for another heated kiss. His hand trailed on her butt before it reached near her center and pushed her panties aside.

She touched herself quite frequently as a way to compensate for her lack of sexual intercourse. She had needs, too. She figured out how to pleasure herself. But his fingers found her clit almost instantly, and she felt desire bubble up inside her. His rubbing felt better than she ever did herself.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he praised. “Can’t bloody wait to fuck you.”

Her breathing had become labored when he continued to rub circles on her clit as his other hand squeezed one of her boobs.

Then suddenly, her whole body froze when he started to push his middle finger inside her.

She flew off of him before her mind could even register it. She looked at him with wide, fearful eyes, and she fought hard to catch her breath. She instinctively covered her breasts with her arms as she continued to move further towards the edge of the bed—away from him.

He sat up, his expression a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

 “What’s wrong?”

 “I—I can’t,” she blinked the tears back, “I don’t know how to do this.”

He stared at her for a few moments before he scrunched up his eyebrows. “A-Are you…?”

She blinked a few more times before getting back to her senses.

If she didn’t push through with this, she wouldn’t get the money. 

“Wait.”

He scoffed, looking everywhere but her. “Fucking Paul Prenter. You’re just trying to mess with me, are you?” 

“No, please. Wait—” 

He swatted her hands away when she tried to touch his arms.

“Get out.”

“Roger, please—”

“I said get out!”

With that, she quickly stood up, gathered her clothes and ran out of the room.


End file.
